Pivot
by Vengersberg
Summary: Royai on Ice. Modern AU. Definitively it wasn't her graciousness but the way she carried herself through the ice; Riza Hawkeye could have melted it as she was fire incarnate. And he was supposed to shape those flames with every touch, with each lift.


I've fallen in the Royai on Ice hell and here I am. I wish I was more fluent in English because just thinking about all the tenses and conjugations I might have f*cked up makes me shiver but oh well, I will try to edit as much as I can when discovering the errors.

This is one goes to Sarah, Jeb and Chloé, they're all to blame for fueling this hellish AU. Also a shoutout to Katie for being a supportive sweetheart no matter the language I am writing in, and Shay because it warms my heart to read her screaming in my moodboards tags —those in the royai on ice edit tonight were specially touching.

So, here it goes.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own FMA.

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pivot (pɪvət): (n) pin or the central point on which something balances or turns: (v) if something pivots, it balances or turns on a central point. And if one thing pivots on (phrasal verb) another, it depends on it.

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Roy watched as Riza landed a perfect quadruple salchow without even breaking a sweat. Although the way she glided through the rink was mesmerizing it still was a reminder of how much he was holding her back; by then she could had a brilliant career in single skating, yet she stayed by his side despite how awful their —or should he say 'his'?— last season was. As miserable as he was feeling, Roy didn't say anything about his lack of confidence, that being another infraction of their unspoken rules.

He came there to try and wash away his anguish by looking at her, which spoke a lot of how it felt to observe her on ice: it was like witnessing a miracle.

Riza was graceful, with her white ice skates and her trademark black turtleneck, but that wasn't anything special; anyone could look graceful with enough training. He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows at that Drachman Split she pulled out of nowhere. Definitively it wasn't her graciousness but the way she carried herself through the ice; Riza Hawkeye could have melted it as she was fire incarnate. And he was supposed to shape those flames with every touch, with each lift… but the gods be damned, he didn't feel ready nor worthy.

"Who are you, Hayate?" Roy blinked, drifting his eyes from her partner to the brunette woman standing besides him. Rebecca didn't even let him break a word. "You look like a hungry, miserable dog, watching her like this, you know". He suspected Riza knew how much a pain her best friend was although he did never say a thing about their friendly —or not that friendly— banters over her attention.

"You are so eager to get me on the ice with her so you can watch and try it with Havoc on bed?" He grinned at her, then turned his head to where Riza was… or was supposed to be, since she was way closer and of course did she hear him. Trying to stay cool, he ignored Rebecca's fading giggles and focussed his attention on her. She looked cute, her nose and cheeks red because of the cold, though the last could be the result of the implications of his words; to have said that meant everything they did on the rink was easily translated to a bed, to sum up… they were having sex on ice.

But they were only friends. They'd been for almost 20 years, of course, but that was all.

They went on vacation together, spent their evenings in each other's company… but they were just that: confidants, partners… and soulmates according to the press.

(God did she look like a winter goddess, her blond hair dishevelished from the practice).

"Roy?" A gentle tug on his sweatshirt made him come back from wherever his thoughts were wandering. When he wanted to give her the proper attention, she was already a few meters away from the border where he was. "You came here to practice with me, didn't you?" Scared to disappoint her, he didn't dare to shake his head. "So stop loafing around and come here". What could he do?

It was Riza, of course he indulged.

There was a certain magic in the way her figure grows as he skated closer to her —there had always been. "Tomorrow is the big day", he reminded her as a salute, even if she didn't need it. "And we will win", was her simple reply as she slid towards him with a soft smile, then proceeded to circle him doing a choctaw turn; the only thing he is able to do in that very moment, is to follow her with his eyes. He decided to push his luck: "'Amestrians win the gold by banging on ice' sounds like a good headline". She stopped her routine, a deadpan expression on her face. "Roy, I am serious".

He could have changed the subject, threw one of his smiles and then pretend it was nothing, only he was tired of the façade. "I am being serious too, Riza", he whispered, moving closer to her and catching her figure —sculpted by the gods themselves, he was sure— by the waist. "I mean it", with great effort, he stared at her brown eyes.

He was trying to concentrate, to not look at her parted lips. Over the years, he had been taught and had mastered all the ways to touch a woman to make her feel desired, was her name Riza or whatever it was, it didn't matter. Because of that, the touches ceased to have any meaning for them both, hence the struggle: how to prove her he meant it?

By doing the only thing they never did.

He kissed her.

Her lips were soft, and she carried the scent of lilacs. What he didn't expect was her to throw her arms around his neck and not letting him go. The mild pull on his hair makes him open his eyes —when did he close them anyways?— just to be greeted by a mischievous brown glare. "Just to clarify, I don't mind you talking about our program as 'sex on ice'…", she gets closer to his ear, caressing the side of his neck like he was mocking the way he is supposed to do so with her while skating, "but I'd rather have us using the bed, instead of giving advices to Havoc and Rebecca".


End file.
